Hollow grounds
by MyLadyDay
Summary: Day 1 of Share the love month event. Thatch led a long, less than spectacular life, despite his discoveries in the field of alchemy. Yet in the end, it hardly matters when you're lonely.


**This is my entry for day one of Share the love month (that I am co-hosting with Aerle). The theme was 'the elements'. This isn't beta'd unfortunately. All reviews and comments are welcome.**

It still amazed him, even after all the years he had lived, how the world was capable of change in a heartbeat. Thatch witnessed enough changes through his lifetime, yet it never ceased to amaze him. There was something about the warm sunny day that brought him peace of mind, but made him sentimental all the same, bringing back memories of times long passed and almost forgotten. Not even the horrifyingly loud noise of traffic did a thing to dampen his mood, something that was definitely a first. The noise was never one of his favorite things, even if he lived in a fairly small town with light traffic.

He strolled through the park, paying no mind to the people around him or the sound of cars honking, only mindful of the gentle breeze stroking his face before it ruffled his hair. For whatever reason, he didn't mind in the slightest. The wind never bothered him as it was probably the only constant in his life, a fact that brought a smile to his face. It really was an odd day for him to smile peacefully as he made his way home.

Still, his current home was nothing more than an empty shell, just as it had been for far too long. It was slowly gnawing on him for a pretty long while already, making him consider putting his affairs in order and putting a stop to all of it. That whole idea sounded depressing, really, dampening his bright mood a bit, but still not enough to make his mind wander from the better memories he held dear. Not even the fact there weren't many of those could bring his mood down completely, however. He found it strange, honestly, given that he was rarely happy, if it could even be considered happiness.

What he was, however, was distracted. Thatch walked through the park, hands full of groceries and various other ingredients for his, to date, most unsuccessful experiment. He'd still claim it was the most important one, as well, which only made the failure more prominent.

Lost in thought, Thatch stepped onto the sidewalk, the sound of his shoes clacking against the stones creating a rhythm that drowned out the sound of traffic. His attention was anywhere except in the present, his legs moving on autopilot as his mind kept reenacting what turned out to be his first noteworthy memory of many to come. His eyes never strayed from the ground just in front of him as he stepped on the crosswalk.

The violent gust of wind was eerily familiar, yet highly unexpected as it hit him head on, pushing him back towards the stones of the sidewalk. The force of it was too strong, pushing him further back and knocking him straight onto his ass in one forceful sweep. Thatch's backside collided with the painfully hard surface just in time for him to see the car thundering violently over the spot on the road he had just vacated. The driver didn't even slow down, making Thatch realized what had just happened.

Remnants of the wind turned to a gentle breeze, swirling around him in what might even seem like a lover's touch. His hair was being ruffled softly, nothing he wasn't used to already, just like finding stray flowers amongst the strands turned into a regular occurrence. With some effort, considering his tail bone felt like it was broken into tiny bits and pieces, Thatch managed to lift himself from the pavement, ignoring the few onlookers that had stopped in their way.

"Thank you," he mumbled with a small smile, his eyes averted to the ground as the breeze starts swirling around his body in a violent wave. It somehow gave Thatch the impression of rage enveloping his body, but not his own. This too, unfortunately, was a familiar sensation; one he'd rather not experience ever again, yet he'd said that same thing every time it's happened and it still always happened again. Having his ass saved from a certain death was a cause to smile, however, no matter that he'd been considering ending his life only a short while before as he walked through the park.

The onlookers moved on as they noticed Thatch stand, no longer seeing anything peculiar about him as he knew well enough the raging wind was there only for him to see and feel. He continued on his way, with more caution and less zoning out this time. Invoking such a wrath twice in one day was on his list of things he'd ought to never do if he wanted to stay alive, which was a rather touchy subject for Thatch at the moment. It was a rather good day so far, reminding him of better and happier, definitely simpler times. Yet, as much as he'd hate it, Thatch knew he was bound to return to his usual state of mind before long. It was unavoidable, really.

Still, he managed to return home without further incidents, unlocking the front door as the breeze combed through his hair. As soon as the door was open, the wind bounded through the hall and wreaked havoc inside the house. Thatch didn't even bother wondering what would be the next thing to fall victim to the flurry, other than the papers left floating in its wake. Technically, Thatch thought, he wasn't as lonely as he thought most of the time, though lack of two-way communication with another human being was an element he greatly lacked in his life as of late. 'As of late' being the last several hundred years, to be exact, he thought begrudgingly as he left the groceries in the kitchen, scowling at the sound of something shattering somewhere in the house.

Carrying the last bag filled with ingredients for his experiment, Thatch walked through the hall and down the stairs into the basement, feeling a calming breeze passing him on the stairwell. With the winds finally calm and clearly no longer mad at him, Thatch could breathe easily despite entering a stuffy basement heated hellishly by a giant furnace. Despite all the substitutions he was able to make when it came to ingredients through the centuries, alchemy still had a huge flaw; namely, he still needed a furnace that, quite literally, made his life a living hell.

Digging through the bag he brought with him was a short affair and Thatch found what he had been looking for. The bundle of dried herbs might have looked like weeds to most people, but he knew better after all he had done so far. Crushing the plants without separating them first was also done swiftly, yet despite being in the basement for mere minutes, Thatch was already sweating as if he were standing in a steaming sauna, only less pleasurable.

His hopes rested on this concoction of plants. With steady fingers and frayed nerves, Thatch sprinkled the powder into the flask above the fire. The liquid inside changed color, swirled in a flurry of shades and changed density before hardening to the point of shattering the glass.

So much for hopes, he thought with his head downcast, finding solace only in the velvety touch of fresh air on his cheek. It wasn't like him to give up, but time had taken its toll on him and his convictions. Time coupled with loneliness and a constant reminder that he was unable to produce something more important than gold or eternal life were slowly thinning out his will to continue his practices. Yet, for all his complaining and dissatisfaction, he simply couldn't stop. There was more to his failure than just his solitude and he was painfully aware of that fact. It served as motivation, the one thing he never actually lacked through his long life, yet success still eluded him.

Feeling the shards crunch under his shoes, Thatch slowly climbed the stairs back to the hall then once more to the first floor before heading to his bedroom. He knew he was followed, the telltale gentle movements of his hair alerting him to the windy presence.

Without taking off his shoes, Thatch threw himself on his still unmade bed and sighed as he rested his hands on his chest. He watched as the curtains danced in the air for a moment before the movement shifted to several papers swirling in the air before finally, the wind settled around him. It was no longer violent and hurtful, turning into a gentle entity combing through his hair and caressing his skin like a lover would. At least he thought it would be like that, yet he knew it wouldn't; nothing would be like this.

"Do you remember when we first met?" he asked without expecting a verbal response. Thatch smiled to himself as he thought back to that day, even if it wasn't exactly a meeting per se.

The reply to his question came in the form of a breeze sliding over his body before the violent wind compressed into a vaguely human form sitting on the bed next to him. The sight only made Thatch smile sadly; he was faced with his only companion, one that could not speak or form a solid body. One that stood by him for what felt like an eternity, silently pushing him forward.

"Of course you remember," he said. "You remember everything."

Thatch was used to one sided conversations and replies through gusts of wind, but he couldn't stand the silence. It was on him to fill it, lest he let another person into his home, but that was no longer a real option. The two of them were more than enough, yet not nearly enough at the same time and it took its toll on Thatch. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't fathom how all of it was affecting the other. They've been together for years and he still wasn't sure if his companion had feelings.

"I remember it too," he finally spoke, staring at the ceiling. He honestly wasn't sure what brought all of this on, why he was dead set on recounting the better moments of his life that began with a simple touch of wind. Still, he knew he had to get it out, had to speak while he still could. Thatch remembered it all clearly, as if it were yesterday and not countless of lifetimes ago. He had been barely a boy of ten when his father brought him into his hidden basement, showing him the secrets of the forbidden arts. Alchemy looked downright magical from where he observed it, watching his father try and fail countless of times.

His father's search for what he learned were two desires of every alchemist was fruitless, a long chain of failures that only served to teach Thatch the basics of the trade. The old man turned out to be less persistent than Thatch had first thought, giving up on the practice and leaving him behind to fend for himself. What had persuaded him to take on his father's place in the basement, he still didn't know. He knew he had nothing else. The last semblance of a family walked out of their door, leaving Thatch in poverty in a small house surrounded by equally small houses in that long paved street.

The world, however, was changing as Thatch observed it. Alchemy rose from the basements and became a worthy occupation, one noble enough for kings; Thatch himself was far from employment for the king, but his practices were more open and he himself became one of the esteemed alchemists in the Golden Street. The houses surrounding him were all filled with others just like him, except perhaps older. Men of all ages were searching for at least one out of two formulas that would put their name into history. Their search for transforming common metals into gold was the cause for renaming the street they all resided in, but more of them focused on finding the one desire of humanity: eternal life.

Thatch threw himself into the search for both, if only to spite his father for leaving him with nothing, yet he stopped really resenting him years ago. He had learned and adapted to the world, ten years was a long time to spend alone in a dark scorching basement with nothing but failed experiments to keep him company.

Still, being able to buy ingredients in the market was a big change in his process and he spent the last of his gold on what he needed to attempt making the elixir once again. It felt different that time, the anticipation hung heavily in the air as he adjusted his father's old flask above the flame. The liquid inside looked promising to him, even though he had no idea what it was supposed to look like. He had tried all of his father's recipes years ago, abandoning them all as they have proven to be worthless, opting for making his own while he was still motivated to do so.

The liquid started moving, catching Thatch's eye as it swirled violently, losing color and substance with every move. Transfixed, he watched as the liquid kept speeding up, it's consistency appearing clearer than water with a shimmer like a diamond. At least he thought that was what a diamond would look like, considering he had never seen one before.

The movements behind the old glass of poor quality were almost violent, shaking the flask on its metal stand above the fire. With unsure steps, Thatch moved away, not sure whether this was supposed to happen or not, but didn't want to risk touching anything. He had never seen a reaction this... noticeable. His father's work always ended in an anticlimactic darkening of any substance in the flask, the stark black mass motionless before it was washed out. His own experiments ended in much the same way, considering he had used his father's notes.

This was different and, therefore, it meant progress. Thatch was still unsure about the frantic shaking of the flask, yet he failed to see any bubbling inside the liquid. Considering it had been boiling over the flame only moments ago, the reaction puzzled him.

With a loud crack, the flask broke. Running was out of the question as his eyes noticed movement unlike any before. From the still flying shards of glass, a wind emerged and for a brief moment, it took on the form of a long haired young man watching him curiously before changing into a whirlwind that took over the room, putting out all the fires and cooling down the air.

Thatch felt as if he had never breathed properly in his entire life. He stood in the fray, unaffected by the violent wind as it tore through the dark basement. There was no sound of breaking, which he was grateful for, but the forefront of his mind was focused on the fact that he had created something. A sylph, if he remembered the stories correctly.

He cleared his throat and all movement stopped, the air stilled once again and fell into silence. Thatch's hand reached out, though who knows what for, he couldn't see a thing. A breeze encased his hand, softer than it had been just moments before, moving up his arm until he could feel it on his skin.

"Can you speak?" he asked softly, keeping his voice low in an attempt to keep the peace that has fallen on the room. Silence answered, however, the breeze changing course in what felt to him like a person shaking their head. "But you can understand me?" he asked, though didn't stop to think how the other would reply. Thatch knew it was air, but it felt like a hand caressing the side of his face and he flinched, not used to physical contact. Even if it was just air. He did conclude that the elemental understood him, but that only marked the beginning of his trouble. After all, what was he supposed to do now?

"What do I call you?" he mused, more to himself than the other as he wasn't exactly expecting a reply. The wind picked up again and Thatch lifted his head only to feel a piece of paper hit him in the face. Grumbling about lack of manners and useless spirits, he made his way upstairs into the light with the paper safely in his hand as the wind escaped the basement with him, wreaking havoc in the rest of the house.

The alchemist sighed, already exasperated by the fact that he would most likely have to deal with the elemental for the rest of his life. Ignoring the storm inside his own house, Thatch glanced down at the paper from one of his father's old journals. It held a small drawing of what resembled the black haired man Thatch had seen for a mere moment as the flask broke with a detailed description of what it was. Thatch recognized the paper, after all, that was how he even knew what it was he created. A small smile curved his lips as he saw the word scrawled at the top of the page.

"Izo," he said and the mayhem stopped, the wind subsiding as the presence of the sylph enveloped him and ruffled his hair with something he might almost describe as affection. Almost. For a moment, Thatch reveled at the fact that for the first time in over ten years, he wasn't alone. He remembered that day as one of the happiest he had been since his father left. The sunset seemed more special and the night air was warmer as he went to bed. The world seemed different in the wake of his first success after so many failures, despite knowing that technically, the experiment that brought him Izo was also a failure. It didn't matter to him as he lay in bed, a warm breeze lulling him to sleep.

Thatch remembers that first night as well as every single night since that had ended in the same way. He no longer questioned it nor the fact he had never felt odd about technically sharing a bed with an entity that wasn't human. Or had a body to speak of. It almost bothered him that it didn't bother him in the first place, but how could it when he knew Izo was there to stay. Having the elemental bound to him from the moment in broke out of the flask was a given if the information in his father's journal was right.

What his father's journal didn't say, however, was that an elemental, or at least Izo, was quite useful in research pertaining the transmutation of metals into gold. Thatch remembers those first few years after Izo's appearance as filled with broken glass, melted metal and random fires spread by an inconspicuous wind. He might have been useful for gently pointing out various ingredients at the market, but the spirit was also a lot of trouble when left unsupervised.

Thatch lay on the bed, smiling softly for the first time since he plopped onto it, as he remembered the day they succeeded. It happened several fairly long years after Izo came to him when he melted down the last metal plate he owned. All or nothing became very real for him, considering Izo had no use for material possessions. More than once had Thatch wondered why the other had been helping in the first place, but he knew better than to question it out loud.

Cooling down the rather unusual looking small hunks of metal, Thatch grew genuinely nervous for the first time since he had taken over his father's trade. Two brand new flasks were perched on metal stands above the fire that heated the liquids inside. He hesitated when the time came to drop one nugget into the liquid and received a caress across his hand for courage before he finally did it. The liquid boiled and the piece of metal disappeared inside as it melted away before changing the color. With his hand wrapped in thick fabrics, Thatch reached for the flask and lifted it off the fire only to pour the liquid into the other flask.

The glass almost slipped out of his grip as the two liquids touched, the darker thick one with the metal and the clear opaque one in the other flask. The metal poured over the crystal clear liquid and as it touched, instead of mixing as Thatch had expected, the metal liquid solidified and left a golden nugget sinking to the bottom of the clear glass flask without changing anything in the appearance of the solution inside.

He was speechless for the longest time, aware of Izo's excited movements that put out the candles lining the walls, but he couldn't bring himself to care. They made it. Thatch finally achieved one dream every alchemist shared and as suddenly as it happened, he also realized he would have to leave. No one would ever know what he had achieved if he wanted to stay alive. It was a lot of gold, considering he could make as much as he wanted. Until that moment, Thatch didn't realize the bad implications of his success. It was a success nonetheless, one he was very excited about as he was no longer penniless.

Izo was around him, the occasional caress making its way through the breeze. Thatch could almost feel the other's excitement and he was much the same once he came to terms with the need to move away. He could see the world, Thatch realized as he removed the nugget from the clear liquid with utmost care. Just to make sure it was pure gold, he melted it as he felt Izo breeze through the room, playing with the fire under the flasks. If it weren't for the fact Izo could easily put out any fire, Thatch would make it a priority of finding a way to keep the other out of the basement.

Confirming that the gold was actually gold, Thatch hurried to put the other metal nuggets through the same process until he had more gold than he had seen in his entire life, which wasn't really a difficult feat to achieve. His mind was already set on another difficult feat, however, now that he how to make gold.

As he lay on the bed, Thatch remembered how eternal life seemed like a good idea at the time. In hindsight, eternal life always seem like a good idea until you actually achieve it, he knew now. While he did get a long, fairly good life with Izo even if he was lonely. Which was another thing he learned through the years; the loneliness was so much worse when there was someone just within reach, yet unattainable at the same time.

Just as they turned that first nugget of metal into gold, Thatch remembered they also found the formula for the elixir together as well. As he dug through his memories, some better than the others, Thatch was astound by finding he did nothing worth remembering before Izo broke out of his father's flask as a force to be reckoned with. Which was the perfect description of the elemental, actually, something that hadn't changed at all through the centuries. Izo stood by him all that time, playing a key role in his alchemist career considering he was there to help with every major discovery in one way or another. Mostly it was guiding him to ingredients he hadn't even considered to use or fiddling with the fire. They were small things that made a huge difference in the result.

He was already accustomed to Izo's presence after so long, barely noticing the wind that followed him around unless it all concentrated into a single point; mostly subtle touches, forces like fingers combing through his hair or a simple touch around his wrist after working for too long without sleeping. Such instances happened more often in the recent years while he worked on his last project.

The elixir, in itself, was so simple it made him smile to think about it. They were far from home and the Golden street, stumbling across the right formula just as Thatch had done with all his other successes. It gave him life through several long centuries, buying more time for him to focus on one last thing which was, ironically, proving to be the most difficult yet. Still, he was most likely the only alchemist left, the trade no longer popular or needed with the discovery of chemistry and other sciences than never held Thatch's interest. Just like the people and places he encountered during his travels; he never got attached to anyone as immortality showed its ugly side as soon as he tried to establish friendships at first. He never thought about having to outlive anyone he might hold dear and decided he didn't need anyone other than Izo after the first time it had happened.

He was in the middle of remembering the first time he drank the elixir with Izo trying to blow the cup out of his hand because Thatch wasn't sure whether they succeeded or not, when the pain in his chest distracted him. It was still manageable and easy to hide from Izo, despite the other probably knowing anyway.

"Izo..." he started, his voice cracking, "I didn't take the elixir the last few times."

He was staring at the ceiling, ignoring the presence on his side; despite not being able to see Izo, he knew the other was there. He also knew Izo was aware of everything. Even the fact that Thatch was growing tired of it all. The life he no longer wanted and the continuous failure that was his experiment for over a century already. Izo was with him for so long already, Thatch was used to having him there, but he had never gotten used to not seeing the other.

Looking for a way to turn the elemental into a person of flesh and bone was a task he had expected to be difficult, but not to the point of being downright impossible. After discovering eternal life, Thatch thought the sky would be his limit until he learned how to fly, that is.

His chest flared with another wave of pain, yet it didn't compare to the disappointment that weighed on him because he failed to achieve one thing he found was most important. The air flickered around him and he knew Izo felt the pain as well, their bond developing to overbearing levels through the years. It only served to intensify the guilt for not managing to complete what he had to.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, refusing to look into Izo's direction. After all, his death meant Izo's as well and he already felt the end creeping towards them. His mind was still drowning in things he wanted to say and things he wished Izo could tell him, yet it was crushing that there was no chance of it. It was too late anyway, he knew he wouldn't be able to get up from the bed anymore as his strength was draining from his body.

The last few months were already spent living on borrowed time, hoping for a good outcome yet somehow not really expecting it. It hurt to think it wasn't meant to be, even if Thatch barely believe in fate or destiny. He used to believe in himself until he failed himself and mostly Izo.

Mustering some strength to shift on the unmade bed, Thatch move to his side, knowing if Izo had a body, he would be mirroring his position. Of course he couldn't see the elemental, another painful reminder of his failure, but he could feel the subtle shifting of air around him that always lulled him into blissful sleep. With a resigned sigh, he figured it would be the same this time as well, without the part of waking up to the same breeze.

His vision blurred for a moment, making him close his eyes for a longer while as he fought to stay for just a bit longer. With great effort, Thatch managed to open his eyes once again and promptly gasped in surprise. His eyes remained wide as he took in the sight of the same black haired man he had seen just once centuries ago. Izo's black hair was spilling on his pillows as his impossibly dark eyes seemed to stare straight into Thatch's very soul.

Thatch's surprise melted into a sad smile. The happiness about finally seeing Izo was only overshadowed by the defeat of it being only for a period far too short. The expression was mirrored on the beautiful face in front of him, sending regret through Thatch as he didn't want to see such sadness on such a breathtaking person. They had all the time in the world, yet at the same time they didn't stand a chance, Thatch mused as he stared at the other while he still could.

With much effort, he managed to lift his hand, slowly stroking the other's cheek as Izo had done to him countless times through countless years as a gesture of comfort or affection. Only this time, it served as a goodbye, a bittersweet farewell he never wished for. He was almost dead, the realization of the fact visible in Izo's eyes.

"I always knew you were beautiful," Thatch uttered softly, his thumb caressing along Izo's cheekbone. He wasn't sure whether the other was real or if he was losing his mind so close to the end, but Thatch couldn't bring himself to care. At least he got to see Izo once before he died. His eyes were sliding to a close once again, this time with a finality he'd rather not feel knowing he wouldn't open them again to see Izo's face once more. The same violent wind he had first felt that night centuries ago was back, wrapping around him in a last goodbye as he smiled.

Thatch never thought he would ever miss the wind.


End file.
